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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26075794">(Not Really) A Monochromatic Void</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AStrangeAndPeculiarFox29/pseuds/AStrangeAndPeculiarFox29'>AStrangeAndPeculiarFox29</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble and a Half, Mild Gore, Other than that things happen, Peculiar Things Happen, Psychological Torture, Psychologists &amp; Psychiatrists, Psychology, Slightly - Freeform, Slightly unreliable narrator, Unknown narrator, i dunno what else to put here, kinda not really</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:20:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,947</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26075794</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AStrangeAndPeculiarFox29/pseuds/AStrangeAndPeculiarFox29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Our good old narrator goes through some bullshit upon bullshit that might not be understood. This was a drabble, I just wrote it down. It might not even make sense at all.</p>
<p>Don't worry, though. It was a nice way to write down something that was bothering me in the back of my mind. </p>
<p>(By the way, there's some psychology in here, but it might not be completely accurate, I'm no expert.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>(Not Really) A Monochromatic Void</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I always thought that the rooms inside of the man’s house were peculiar. Each day, I would pass by and wonder why the windows seemed darker than usual, or why they seemed so clear that it was quite unsettling. I never had internal arguments within myself about why a window could be so clean, but it was strange, because his windows were frequently unclear and dark, as though the glass was tinted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>These errands I would run that would force me to pass by his house always lead me to the large building a mile or two away. I was forced to speak with a woman only a few inches taller than me, because I wasn’t mentally stable. Or so they said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I never believed that I wasn’t okay. I was rather happy with the thoughts that would run rampant around my mind, be it that they were paranoid, afraid, sorrowful, or even furious. It felt like a release. A calmness would rush over me whenever my thoughts had the ability to run around, until they, too, were too tired to continue, and just like that, they would be like people who could barely keep their eyes open, and fall unconscious, for the rest of the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They didn’t believe that this was alright. I wasn’t ever sure why; they never told me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I always trudged back after I spoke with the woman inside of the building, arriving back in my neighborhood and walking by the man’s house, for the second time inside of that day. I never told her about the paranoid thoughts, restless and uneasy, that would run faster after I gazed at it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The house was like every other house in the block; one story, pretty small, brown walls, two garage doors that were painted white with the black-tinted, tiny windows, and two large windows to the side. Unlike every other house, the windows seemed to change, either from being tinted to being so crystal clear that it seemed as though someone replaced the glass with cleaner glass, in under the amount of time it truly took to replace a window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The difference made my skin crawl, although I wasn’t entirely sure why. The paranoid thoughts would speed up even more when I became unsure, and the uneasiness would increase with each passing second, until I was practically running towards my own home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>However, if I eased by that paranoia, I found the underlying coat of curiosity. Why were the windows tinted? Why did it seem as though the glass in that window changed each day? Why was the glass so unnaturally clear for the entire day, without a single spot of anything on it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The questions ran rampant in my mind, every day, until one day, when the man who owned the house approached me on my walk home. He wore a suit every day, or so I heard, and each day, the suit would be a different hue, whether it was of the same color or a different one, I wasn’t entirely sure. I slightly believed these rumors, since each time I saw him, he wore a suit. They were different colors each time, though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he was in front of me, I examined his features. He wore black pants, his suit a clean grey. His eyes were a gentle, dark hue of grey, and his hair was slicked back and combed. It was black. He was taller than me by about a foot, and probably a few inches that added to that. He wore a clean smile as he approached me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was, perhaps, what unsettled me the most. We never spoke to each other, we only ever caught glimpses of each other. Instead of believing that smile was for me, so that the paranoid thoughts wouldn’t become a voice, I chose to believe that the smile related to something that occurred earlier that day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He said, when he stopped a few feet away from me, “Good evening, miss. I noticed that you seem to stare at my house whenever you come back from whatever errands you took the time to do. Is there a problem?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His voice was smooth, like silk. It was far deeper than I anticipated it would be. A thought crossed through my mind upon understanding the question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><em>Yes, there is something clearly wrong. Your windows change every day! I would like to know why and how. I would also love to question the tint, as it seems very unnecessary.</em></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><em>..no, I was just staring without realizing, I guess. Sorry to bother you.</em></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a decision I had to make, about whether I was to lie or if I was to tell the truth. I felt, however, as though there was something truly wrong occurring inside of his home, if he took the time to tint his windows. It was unnecessary. Nobody ever did anything inside of my neighborhood. It was overkill to believe that one needed that type of protection. Especially if one put into consideration the use of <em>curtains.</em></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” I began, hesitant, “there’s nothing wrong. I was just curious about the tinted windows. It’s not always tinted, and I guess it just kind of makes me think about all of the possible answers to why.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed, a gentle sound that attempted to ease my nerves. It didn’t do the desired effect, if that was what the man wanted. “Privacy is a very essential thing, in my opinion. I do suppose that it seems to be overkill, since this neighborhood is peaceful. However, I never knew if this neighborhood was safe or unsafe, and I have some truly valuable objects that could be sold for quite a bit of money, so I decided that the safer option would be the best.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Although, I am slightly confused. What do you mean that the windows aren’t always tinted? I haven’t untinted my windows yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was confusion in his tone, but I felt alarm spread throughout my body. He could be acting, my paranoid thoughts said, and he could be hiding something. I was about to respond, but he chose to speak instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At any rate, I was hoping to ask you if you wanted a cup of tea or coffee inside of my house? I met all of the residents inside of this neighborhood excluding you, and it would be preferable if I didn’t leave one person behind, especially a female.” He held a hopeful smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I gazed at the ground, the adrenaline pumping, but not as hard as before. Was there, perhaps, a misunderstanding inside of my head? Did I mistake the situation? Did he truly never untint his windows? Answers upon answers swirled within my mind, but I chose to take a risk, despite all of the warnings inside of me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, that would be fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His smile grew, if not slightly. “Great! Come with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I followed him. My thoughts became a voice, more than one voice, in fact. It felt as though each emotion was a person, but the voices held emotion, more emotion than what they “represented.” It didn’t bother me, but it was slightly irritating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><em>“Something terrible is bound to happen. Perhaps you should do something about it. Please?”</em> one remarked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><em>“You should run away,”</em> another remarked. <em>“Run as far away as possible. Or, if you really want to, follow him inside. If he tries something, you could knock him unconscious, or even kill him. It would be self defense regardless.”</em></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The voices continued, so much so that I followed him absentmindedly. When the voices calmed themselves, my thoughts that reasoned with them calming them down, I realized that I sat on a table inside of his home, in the room with the tinted window. He was in the kitchen, I heard him, sifting through the fridge and a cabinet, searching. My eyes wandered as soon as the realization arrived.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a home for a man that was rich, that was certainly the truth. The floor was made out of wood, purpleheart if one truly wanted to be specific. There was a leather couch, an expensive flat screen TV, a coffee table that seemed to have been custom made, and quite a lot of expensive things that I wasn’t able to comprehend. Although, the purpleheart flooring seemed to be of a redder hue, rather than that purple hue that it was known for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I swallowed. Inside of the room, I felt out of place. This was for someone who was rich, who could buy expensive things almost without a care in the world. I wasn’t rich. This man should have some gold digger wife who did things for him. I didn’t know why that thought crossed my mind, but it did. The atmosphere of these strange rooms that felt expensive, and yet cheap had my thoughts flying even faster than they were before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He came back, a cup of coffee in his hand. “What do you think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I took the coffee. It was clear that he wanted my thoughts on this room. I was reluctant, but overcame it quickly. “It’s pretty neat. I do feel out of place, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there any particular reason?” He took a sip of his drink, which I was sure was tea. I took a sip of mine as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not one for expensive things, so I guess being inside of a house made for a rich man simply makes me uncomfortable in some ways.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tilted his head, curiosity flashing in those soft grey eyes. “Is that so? I wasn’t aware. Your house is, perhaps, the largest in the neighborhood, if you compare it to every other house in the neighborhood, excluding those with another floor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t know if that makes it the most expensive. I mean, in terms of furniture and interior, my house doesn’t contain much. A lot of the stuff inside of this house is clearly expensive, like the flooring and that large TV.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I assure you that you’re missing the marble designs around the TV, considering the cost of that marble. Along with the granite. Disregarding those, however, I do believe that certain colors inside of this place could make someone feel more at home. I made it look more like the interior of most houses on purpose, even though all of it is of a different caliber when it comes to quality and cost. I am a psychiatrist, after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there something about expensive things that simply unsettles you in some form or another? Maybe some rich man or woman from the past harassed or bothered you at some point in the past? Oh! Where are my manners? I’ve forgotten that I can’t simply question someone the moment they walk in, my apologies. You remind me, in appearance, of a youthful female that I have counseling sessions with. Excuse my pushiness.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you weren’t supposed to be pushy in counseling or talk therapy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed carefully. “No, of course not. It depends, however, on the patient. I know her on a personal level, and she prefers to speak about certain past events that bother her when asked, instead of slight probing, mixed with the decision of the patient. Once more, I apologize for the lack of manners and regard for who you actually are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room felt heavier, suddenly. The rooms seemed peculiar, perhaps, because of his attempt at making it homely. I never lived with a mentally stable and secure person, so I usually lived in company with someone who desired dark colors for the walls and no pictures outside of the ones within their room. This psychiatrist, though, seemed to understand a lot about psychology, or so I believed, since I wasn’t well versed in the subject.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or, maybe he simply reminded me of the lady, and it made me tense.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay. Although, I did want to ask: Isn’t a psychiatrist someone who diagnoses mental illnesses? Or are you more than just that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckled, as though the idea of me not understanding him was amusing. “Yes, I am more than a simple psychiatrist. I am a counselor and a therapist. They’re both practically the same. I am acquainted with your own therapist, inside of the building, Mori was her name, correct?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They never told you why, did they? Your psychiatrist never explained the state of your mind, so you’re simply forced to go to therapy with her. I have an explanation, if you’re interested in hearing. Mori told me the symptoms you displayed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I hesitated. Was that why he moved near me? Was that what the unsettling feeling craved to tell me?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe. I do want to understand why I can’t walk on freely, without the burden of therapy on my back, when I don’t even know why I’m getting it in the first place.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They were afraid of your reaction, perhaps. However, I’m not the one who should give you the excuses. I wouldn’t know, no matter if I worked there or not. I moved here, not because of you, but due to Mori’s inability to understand certain conditions. I am training her to read the symptoms of those with mental illnesses. Your psychiatrist failed to tell Mori your diagnoses, so I’m helping her read into it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You suffer from a personality disorder. Those voices inside of your mind that seem to represent emotions, and yet are far more complex than that are separate personalities. It isn’t quite as terrible as it could be, but it isn’t quite as small as it could be, either. However, I would like to note that the way it works isn’t the same as it works with you. It seems as though the disorder is far calmer than possible, although that’s based on speculation after conversing with others with this disorder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do not have memory problems, nor do you seem all that affected by it. Mori wants to understand if this is the actual disorder, or if you may have schizophrenia. It doesn’t seem likely, however, considering that you only show one possible symptom of it, which comes in the voices inside of your mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I froze as I drank my coffee upon hearing him mention my voices. I never told anyone, so how did he know? Could he tell? Was I responding to them under my breath without realizing?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Those voices inside of your mind,” he continued, “are different representations. However, positive symptoms of schizophrenia usually come as a group, rather than only one accompanying you. I do have to go through a few other disorders before I decide which one you may have. I do believe you may have psychosis, although I would need to learn more about you before I choose to diagnose you with it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He continued, his words falling into the background. The voices inside of my head began to murmur, like an audience did after an embarrassing event took place on stage. It didn’t stop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neither of them stopped. The man continued, and the voices inside of my head seemed to grow louder. The room spun quite a bit, the purple hardwood flooring appearing to be soup of some kind, and the white suddenly an unnatural void. The noise continued, louder and louder, his voice becoming more and more delusional and psychotic with each passing second.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I attempted a scream, but my mouth made no sound. My thoughts were drowned out by the voices of the emotions within my mind, an audience of students who couldn’t quit their gossiping and whispering. The sounds grew louder, and with each increase in volume, they seemed to become all the more meaningless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A blue blur flashed before my eyes. It could’ve been either a grey ball with blue spots which glowed, with tendrils of something that seemed to hold it and run across it like veins, or a large monster that was eel-like, growing thicker as you grew closer to its head, before the head came into view, similar to that of a hammerhead shark’s, with a mouth that was closed sideways instead of the way a human’s mouth closed. It became a large hole when it opened, a hole large enough to swallow fifty humans whole.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It disappeared, whichever one it was, to become a black void. Two white dots and a white line that was curved into an unnaturally large smile came into view, before another flash of white that seemed to make no shape flashed in front of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Two emerald eyes flashed in front of me, before a pair of blue, pink, and purple eyes flashed in front of me, staring into my soul. They disappeared, following up with the shape of an animal, either a dog, coyote, or fox, and then it, too, disappeared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Red flashed before me as well, blood splayed over the darkness that surrounded me. It dripped precariously from whatever surface the darkness had, before a pumping, oozing with blood, heart came into view, the veins and the blood vessels that were connected to it coming into my field of vision. Everything swirled into something, before becoming nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every object that I saw came into view, one more, together this time, before it flashed several times, and then it disappeared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The darkness was still, and I felt pain, all over me. Pain unlike pain that was ever experienced. It felt as though everything on and around me was being maimed, destroyed with knives and claws and any other sharp object one could think of. The black void became white again, and this time, the meaningless noise, the thoughts, the voices, and the images all became nothing.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yes, I am okay. Nothing in here really testifies to my feelings. If it feels incomplete or just messy, that represents how my life is right now. I just felt like posting something, before getting back to work on my good old novelization of Subnautica that I haven't finished the next chapter of.</p>
<p>Just be careful, since it will be a moderately long or even really long second chapter.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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